


I Saw It In The News!

by maroon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, He just is, M/M, Markus Is Awkward, Multiple Pov, RK1K Week, There's No Shame In Being A Hot Mess, outsider's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 00:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maroon/pseuds/maroon
Summary: North is a great matchmaker, and the world (Connor and Markus) is her oyster.Actually, this is her first time setting up her friends, so just wish her luck.





	I Saw It In The News!

**Author's Note:**

> i still have a migraine what the fuck
> 
> RK1K week, day 2: Markus Says He Likes Connor, on TV. 
> 
> (i want to thank that person who asked for what is, basically, PR AU rk1k)
> 
> [my blog](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rk-1k)

North looks imperious as she looks down at Markus, pursing her lips as if she was deep in thought. If he could sweat, he could. Well, he _can_ , but he doesn’t want North to know he’s nervous, let alone scared of her looking down on him like this.

She hums some more. “You have great features, did you know that?”

Markus answers truthfully. “Yes.”

The woman nods, her fringe bobbing with the action. She tips her head to the side, humming ominously. There’s just... a lot of humming going on, and it’s unsettling Markus. It’s like she’s going to tell him about her twelve-step plan on conquering the entire world and _then_ pull out his teeth with a rusty pair of  pliers.

“Do you hear that?” She asks.

“Uh,” Answer truthfully, Markus. Answer truthfully, and say the things she wants to hear. She’s like a hound. If she catches a whiff of you lying, it’s over for you. “No?”

“Wrong,” She sighs. _What?_ What did he do wrong? “That’s the sound of happy deviants, Markus.” She puts her hands on her hips and looks out of the windows. “It takes a fortune to take care of our people.”

So it’s about the fucking money problem. He gets it, he does. Short of just selling his father’s house, which he can’t do, because he’s turned it into a deviant halfway house, there’s nothing much he can do about the money problem. He’s _trying_.

North tucks her fist underneath her chin, humming again. What’s up with all the fucking humming? “I have a proposition.” She extends the hand from under her chin and snaps, ever the fucking drama queen, and Simon walks in, looking sheepish as he drags Connor behind him.

Markus looks at his right-hand woman, betrayal lacing his face. _How could she?_

“Hi, Connor,” She greets kindly, too kindly, and even Connor picks up on that, because he fidgets where he stands, but politely remains quiet. Markus didn’t want to drag Connor into the shitshow that is leading a group of people because the man’s got enough on his plate.

“Hello, North.” Connor politely returns her greeting, smiling when North’s lips stretch into a shark-like grin. She closes in on him in three long strides, taking one of his hands.

“How do you feel about taking some pictures for the greater good of androidkind?”

* * *

 “Get the fuck away from me,” Markus hisses as North comes near him with a makeup brush, pointing his finger threateningly. She groans and rolls her eyes, then motions the make-up brush towards Connor, who is sitting down primly in a chair, letting Kara and Simon fawn over him. He's been incredibly hard to work with, because  _one_ , he doesn't like it when people he doesn't know come so close to him, and  _two_ , this isn't a predicament he necessarily  _likes_. 

It’s not fair. Connor doesn’t even want this, right? And Markus doesn’t, too. They could totally stage a coup and overthrow North.

“Look at him.” North states drolly, motioning to Connor, who notices them looking, and _dimples_ cutely at them. How can a grown man _dimple_? “He’s a good boy. Now, how about you?”

“I’m going to sue you for damages—”

* * *

 “All proceeds go to the JERICHO FOUNDATION.” Haku mutters to herself, picking up the magazine from the rack. What’s _this_ doing here in 7-11?

(Though the same could be asked of her. What the fuck is she doing in 7-11 at three A.M. in the morning, looking at android magazines with pretty boys on their covers?)

She shifts her weight and thanks herself that she wore socks with their slip ons. “Three fifty five.” She narrows her eyes. That’s a weird price for a magazine. Or, she thinks it is. Haku doesn’t make it a habit, buying magazines at three A.M. in 7-11. Especially ones with—

Haku pulls out her phone and purses her lips, searching _deviant hunter_. About half a million results pop up, and her eyebrows raise as she taps at the first photograph, revealing a tight-lipped, severe looking android with kind brown eyes.

_Isn’t that...?_

She takes a picture and sends it to her girlfriend, who immediately replies: _U saw the magazines too ??? i thought it was a joke lmao_

Haku walks over to the counter with the magazine and some instant ramen, stopping on the liquor aisle to get a bottle of raspberry soju. As the bored looking cashier lady checks her stuff out, she types out her own reply.

_didn’t know police dude could look that cute. also y are u awake_

Her girlfriend’s retort is questionable and biting. _Kohaku, u texted me first and now u’re complaining that im awake ?? and yeah ... that markus dude though_

Haku didn’t even think about the ‘Markus dude’. She only had eyes for the pale twink, and she tells Kasumi that. The girl rings her after that, greeting her with loud laughter. Haku smiles at the sound.

“I bought one.” Haku tells her as she walks out of the 7-11, sticking a cigarette between her lips as she makes her way back home. Kasumi giggles and teases her about her apparent weakness for twinky white boys, telling her that Kasumi definitely isn’t a twinky white boy.

Haku rolls her eyes. Kasumi probably bought three of those magazines.

“Maybe it’s a one off. Some charity thing.” Kasumi sounds like she’s getting ready for bed at three A.M., which isn’t surprising, but still. Haku worries.

Haku lights her cigarette. “Maybe.”

It isn’t a one off thing.

Magazine sales boom in under a week, and the publisher is asking for more. Markus wants to say no, he does, but as North hands him a phone, telling him to ‘give the people something to anticipate’, Markus finds himself unwilling to let go of this sudden opportunity they have.

So he logs on to Instagram and starts one of those streaming things. He’s never understood it, but Simon and North do it all the time so they, uh. ‘Keep in touch with the world’ or something like that. The account’s got five hundred thousand followers, which probably isn’t all that bad. He guesses.

He doesn’t know.

Markus tries for a smile and misses a mile, and the people logging on to watch seems to notice that, because after a blink, the chat is flooded by litanies of _you look wack_ and _markus!!!!_. He guesses it’s how things are these days. Markus appreciates the bluntness, though it would be swell if they unshackled him from North’s clutches and just let him do his job in peace.

A warmth passes by his back and Markus spots Connor in the camera’s feedback, “Hey,” he greets, stopping Connor from walking away, instead turning his whole body towards Markus and beaming. Markus’ shoulders come loose from their tense line, and Connor takes a few steps closer, waving at the stream Markus is hosting.

“Hello, everyone,” he calmly greets, then he smiles some more at Markus. “Hello, Markus.”

Only then does Markus notice the tiny triad of marks by Connor’s neck, almost unnoticeable, but nothing about Connor is unnoticeable, if Markus is being truthful. And his nose is bent at an angle, almost as if it were broken and pushed back haphazardly. His eyelashes are long and curved, stark black against his pale skin. His profile is extremely handsome, too. The soft jut of his jaw, the kind arch of his eyebrows. His LED, bright blue and peaceful, worn at his temple like a crown jewel.

He really is made to be perfect, isn’t he?

“Yes, we are having a shoot,” Connor says to the stream, that amiable smile still on his face. “The publisher promoted us to the digitised magazines.”

Markus snaps from his internal fawning over Connor and looks at the chat, blushing at the comments of him looking at Connor for far too long. Connor either doesn’t seem to notice it or he doesn’t care about it. Either way, Markus is grateful.

Connor purses his lips and moves in closer, almost crowding Markus in his seat to see the chat better, and Markus actually _feels_ himself blush at that, scooching to the side so Connor can fit better. And Connor does, sitting on the small sofa-chair thing with Markus, his legs half perched on top of Markus’ thighs.

Should he ask if that’s uncomfortable? It looks uncomfortable, but Markus has seen Connor fit through small holes like a cat, so he’s not _that surprised._ And he’s not about to complain, either. A Connor on his lap is a Connor that he likes, very much so. Connor is babbling away again, undoubtedly the better people person between the two of them, and Markus hands him the phone so he can adjust the man’s legs better over his lap, humming contentedly as he places a hand around one ankle.

There, that should be comfortable enough. He asks Connor, “Comfy?”

Connor hums, fiddling with the filters on the stream. “Yes, thank you,”

Markus smiles and absently rubs his thumb on Connor’s ankle, making the man’s humming register a little lower, more relaxed and contented. They’ve haven’t actually talked before these shoots. They didn’t have any reason to; North handled security and she’s the ambassador between the armed forces and the deviants. He’d figured it was only logical that she be the one to spearhead that. It’s always good to put someone cynical in a position that calls for a lot of cynicism.

The man sitting beside him taps his shoulder, “Markus, you’re out of the shot,” he says offhandedly, pulling Markus closer to his face. “That’s better,”

He figures he should just take it all in stride. Who knows, maybe Connor will quit talking to him after everything. He hopes Connor wouldn’t, but he wouldn’t blame the guy. Markus isn’t the most welcoming person, and Connor isn’t, either, but there’s something about the way he talks, the way he smiles, that make people _love_ him.

“Someone asks what we’re about to do next,” Connor turns to Markus, his face the picture of inquiry. Markus takes exactly two seconds to memorise it, and then he turns back to the stream, humming in thought. Truth be told, he’s just letting Josh, Simon, and North handle this.

They’re doing a great job so far, aren’t they? Money’s coming in smoother than ever before, and now they have an actual connection to those outside of their reach.

So he winks and says, “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

This isn’t her first interview, not by a long shot. She’s interviewed many celebrities, volatile or otherwise, but she guesses nothing could have ever prepared her to interview the people who turned the whole world on its own ear.

Not to say she’s surprised, though. With her being married to an android for three years—way before the revolution—and all, she can say she’s not surprised about the latest additions to the broad list of species Wikipedia boasts.

“Jane?” Her assistant raps her knuckles on the doorway. “We’re going live in three minutes.”

Jane Shepherd stands up and shoves her feet into her red-bottom stilettos, dusting off imaginary lint from her shoulders. She smiles at her assistant and then she walks out. The crowd greets her with an enthusiasm she’s always welcomed, and she grins at them, before sitting down on her chair behind the desk.

Jimmy Fallon can eat his heart out, she thinks smugly. She’s the first night show host to ever have Markus and his posse in their show, and she’s going to milk it for all it’s worth. Her wife’s prepared some questions, too, and since Jane is a wonderful wife, of _course_ she’s going to ask them these.

Her wife’s interest in Markus isn’t surprising, since she works with them, with her being a politician and all.

She smiles for the camera, tapping her cue cards against the oak desk. Her assistant’s briefed the deviants coming onto her show, and Jane herself has been briefed about what’s supposed to happen, but she guesses nothing will ever prepare her for the moment she ushers in her guests—she’d thought that there’d be more, but these two are pretty hot right now, so she isn’t complaining—who stands taller than her impressive 180 cm.

Though the paler one—Connor Anderson. Deviant hunter, turncoat—seems smaller than the one with mismatched eyes—Markus Manfred. Deviant leader, hero—who looks uncomfortable under the bright lights and fish-eyes of the cameras. Surprising, considering this is the man who stood proudly in front of millions to broadcast his thoughts and ideals for the future that he fought to live.

Well, it’s too understated to say Jane respects the man. She’s at _awe_ of him.

Jane can’t say the same for Connor Anderson, though, who looks comfortable under the lights and thousands of eyes watching him, a small, delicate smile on his face, walking with a grace that not even most celebrities have. It’s… impressive. He’s definitely made with the thought of absolute beauty, too. Jane’s wife is the same, being a WR400 and all.

“Hi, welcome,” She greets, sitting down the same time as they do, and the two smile, greeting her back.

Connor is the first to speak. “It’s wonderful to be here,” he says, perfect intonation and all, and Markus follows his example, smiling stiffly. Jane’s sure that if he wasn’t restraining himself, he’d be sweating bullets by now.

“Yeah, thank you for the, uh. For the opportunity,”

Jane smiles, hoping it’d make Markus a little bit more comfortable. But it seems to fail, because he clears his throat and wildly looks around, fidgeting with his tie. But before Jane could do or say anything, Connor Anderson’s hand is on Markus’ thigh, pale against the stark black material of the man’s trouser leg. Markus all but sags under the ministration, subconsciously leaning closer to Connor.

Her eyebrows climb up to her hairline.

_Huh._

“How’s life, guys?” She asks companionably, crossing her legs. Now that Markus seems way more at ease, she’s hoping this interview will all go well.

Markus leans back and nearer to Connor, who is slotted against him seamlessly, legs crossed. One of Markus’ arms is on the back of the couch, circling the paler android’s shoulders. Okay. Well, that’s definitely… interesting.

Who is she to judge? Her and her wife definitely were less subdued and more eating each other’s face back in their earlier years. And Jane has definitely hosted more than enough horny people on her show, people she considers brave but tasteless.

The two definitely look at ease, as if they’d been doing this for years. _This_ , of course, being night time shows and interviews. Or, well. She doesn’t know, maybe there’s something more, here. She’ll get to that in a bit.

“Busy,” Markus says with a laugh, and Connor nods. They shift, and Jane watches as Connor leans into the crook of Manfred’s body, his foot swaying gently where it’s perched delicately on top of his leg. “We’ve been trying to get our funding up this quarter.”

Jane hums, looking at her cue cards. “For the shelter?”

“Among other things, yes,” Markus shrugs, looking extremely comfortable where he is. Connor is staring at him silently, watching him speak with utmost reverence. Jane thinks it’s cute. “It’s been going well.”

“I’ll say,” Jane pulls out one of the printed— _printed!_ —magazines that they had published, with Connor and Markus at the front, dressed to the nines in bespoke looking suits and looking as if they were in GQ and not some convenience store magazine. “You look fucking awesome in these!”

Connor lets out a laugh that pushes him further into the curve of Markus’ body, and Jane can’t say she doesn’t enjoy it, when she absolutely does, knowing how well this easy display of affection will rack in views like nothing ever has in her show before. It’s nothing new, this whole debacle around the two faces of deviancy. People have always equated Connor and Markus as being the two sides of the same coin, cut from the same cloth.

They’re absolutely adorable. Definitely this day and age’s Romeo and Juliet. She can almost see the headlines flying; _RK-1000? Love Born From the Rebellion!_

She chuckles internally. Horrid, but she’s sure she, and many more people will tune into their relationship.

“Now, as I know, Markus, you’re not exactly the most public of people; so seeing you on a magazine is, well.” Jane makes a noise of disbelief, “It’s surprising.”

Markus’ eyes widen. Maybe Jane shouldn’t have asked him that.

“It surprised me, too,” Connor interjects smoothly, and Jane has to hand it to him. Whoever briefed him on PR etiquette must be some kind of god, or maybe Connor just has the natural charm that most people in the Hollywood business would kill for. He looks at Markus, reaches out, and fixes his necktie casually. “He certainly does clean up well.”

That earns a hoot and cooing noises from the audience, making Connor smile wider as he acknowledges them. Markus’ cheeks has darkened, the arm around Connor’s shoulders tightening, and Jane could have laughed at his expense, but her wife’s done the same to her.

“And Connor, you’re—well, you’re goddamned gorgeous on these!” She might seem like she’s playing this up, but she’s really not; she hasn’t seen a man as beautiful as the two on her couch. If she wasn’t married—

Jane coughs behind her fist and watches as Connor flushes a bright blue, Markus nods, seemingly finding _something_ to relate to.

“Yes,” Markus agrees, smiling down at Connor. “He’s… he’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

Unlike the reaction to Connor’s good-natured compliments, the crowd is silent, looking at Markus, who is only looking at Connor, who is a little bit shell shocked, his mouth hanging agape as he stares back up at his counterpart. Jane clears her throat and shoots her assistant a look. It feels like she’s intruding in on something _very_ private, and she doesn’t like that.

Markus, surprisingly enough, is the first to recover, “I never thought I’d see him out of that police uniform, which, mind you, is pretty cool, but you gotta wonder if the dude has other clothes.”

Apparently, Markus has found the thing that he’s most comfortable talking about: Connor Anderson, ex-deviant hunter and Lieutenant Anderson’s protégé. Jane can’t blame him; she’d probably wax poetic about the man, too.

“I would have to agree,” Jane’s only seen the same pictures the rest of the public has; Connor Anderson in his police uniform, mostly candids. Seeing him in this sort of element is… surprising, though welcomed. “But I want to ask something that I think is on a lot of our viewer’s minds: _how_ did you two meet?”

Connor shifts and tips his head up towards Markus, as if to say _you can take this_. Jane bites her lips. How the fuck is a six foot something weapon of mass destruction this goddamned adorable? She thinks it’s the eyes. It’s definitely the eyes.

“Uh, I don’t think we can actually talk about _how_ we met, considering the circumstances, but let’s just say it wasn’t… good.” Markus rubs at the back of his head, “But we’ve moved past that, and I’ve found both a friend and a comrade in Connor.”

“A very diplomatic answer.” The crowd laughs. It’s not what they wanted, but Jane’s not going to push further. Unlike other night show hosts— _cough_ , Jimmy Fallon—she does know when to stop, and she doesn’t need to resort to anything dire just to make her audience laugh.

She taps her cue cards against the table, “What’s next for you guys? More magazines? More interviews? Call my assistant if you want another one, by the way.”

Connor snorts in laughter, and Markus looks at him before joining. The crowd soon follows. “I’m not exactly a model, Jane, and neither is Markus here,”

“Coulda fooled me,”

“But we are here to promote our charity gala,” Markus says, his voice still nonchalant but serious. So that’s how you get him to loosen up; just let him blabber on about Connor Anderson. Maybe she’ll pass that little tidbit along the grape vine. “As you all may know, many people still… turn deviants away when it comes to things such as housing, leaving many of us homeless. Some have even taken to subjecting their guests to ‘robot tests’ just so they can make sure that they’re not letting any deviants in.

This breaks my heart—though many might think I’m incapable of doing so—and it’s our duty to help our people, and I implore you to do so, as well. We all have beating hearts, after all.”

Jane blinks. She blinks again, and smiles. The crowd bursts into applause, and Connor is smiling sweetly up at Markus, whose head is bent down and shy once again. It’s hard to imagine that hardened man holding the deviant flag is this timid, compassionate, _nervous_ person.

She watches Connor whisper something into Markus’ ear, and he smiles, a brilliant, _proud_ one that reminds her of herself whenever her wife comes home talking about the laws she helps to repeal and how it weighs on her.

Jane Shepherd smiles to herself, already making a mental memo to make sure there’s a check for five hundred thousand in the JERICHO FOUNDATION from Lianna and Jane Shepherd.

* * *

“That was a good interview,” Simon walks up to the pair, humming as he watches the views for Jane Shepherd’s show skyrocket upwards, “Really good.”

“Of course,” Markus says smugly, like the bastard the whole world doesn’t know he is, “It’s me and Connor.”

Josh hands Connor his water bottle, half-empty already from waiting for them for so long. “Yeah, yeah. We all know you like showing your boy off.”

“Shut up,” Markus hisses, because Connor’s right fucking there.

“What?” Simon sidles up to Josh’s side, making the man drape an arm over his shoulders, “It’s true.”

“Well,” Connor begins thoughtfully, “I like being shown off, then.”

Josh barks out a laugh and Simon joins in, probably wondering how dumb and oblivious a person can be. Markus heats up as Connor presses himself to his side, much like Simon did to Josh, looping his arm around Markus’ elbow.

He sighs, “That was taxing,” he says to Markus, “But you did good, Markus,”

Markus’ throat closes up at the close proximity. Fearing his voice would break just like some android abusing their voice box, instead of saying something suave or cool, he says, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Connor grins teasingly, “ _‘Oh’_. North would be proud.”

Thankful for the metaphorical olive branch, Markus takes it and runs with it, “Where  _is_ our amber haired goddess?”

Connor’s lips twitch downwards.

“She’s on her way with Kara and Alice.” Simon answers smoothly, like he’s memorised North’s schedule down to the T. And he probably has.

“Kara?” Connor perks up at that, unwrapping himself from Markus and gravitating towards Simon and Josh, “When will they be here?”

Markus whines at the loss of Connor’s warm weight against him, disguising it as a cough.

Simon tosses him a knowing look, but Markus is too busy trying to avoid everyone’s eyes.

* * *

So maybe this whole gala thing is North’s greatest idea yet. Not that he’d say that to her face, especially when she’s holding a champagne flute that could easily be a shiv if she were so inclined.

Markus smiles at the gaggle of ladies that’s conglomerated around him, many of them old, some of them young, but all of them _very_ interested in touching him. He wishes he has someone by his side; Simon’s got Josh, North’s got Kara, and Connor… well, Connor brought Lieutenant Anderson.

North actually crowed with delight when Connor said he’d be dragging the Lieutenant along as his plus one, and Markus can admit that it’s a good move. Him and Lieutenant Anderson has… garnered a following. Everybody knows them, and worse yet—for Markus, at least—everybody _loves_ them. Markus can’t blame them; Connor and the Lieutenant are definitely a force to be reckoned with.

_And_ they look good.

It certainly doesn’t help—for Markus, at least—that Connor’s taken Lieutenant Anderson’s last name. People went wild when Connor’s last name became public information.

Markus swipes a glass of thirium, light blue and sparkly for aesthetics, and takes a deep swig. After Kamski released any and all information imperative to the production of their life blood, somebody took it upon themselves to make a thirium variant that lets androids get absolutely _hammered_.

Definitely an unsung hero.

He excuses himself from the gaggle of women and walks off, reading through the speech he has to give later. Why does _he_ always have to be the one to give out these damn speeches? Markus thinks it’s well established that he’s by far the most awkward out of all of them, and Connor is literally the youngest out of the five of them, meaning: _Markus needs to get his shit together_.

But still, he likes bitching about it.

A tall woman stops him, her teeth blinding and sharp. He shudders as she looks at him from head to toe.

“Mr. Manfred,” She greets, her voice tinged with the influence of high society. Markus knows her kind of people. He was Carl Manfred’s android for a long, long while. People liked looking at him. They liked touching him even more, until Carl snapped at them. But now he has no Carl, no anyone. But he’s learned how to handle these kind of women.

With a nice smile and some room for Jesus in between the two of them. Just like Carl used to say.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of knowing you, Missus…?”

“ _Miss_ Belfour.” She grins tightly, her thin lips becoming red lines across her pale face, “Quite a nice… party you’ve got here.”

“Indeed. The gala’s proceeds will go directly to housing—among other things—for deviants. Life out there isn’t exactly welcoming to us.”

She tips her head to the side. Markus flags down a waiter and replaces his empty glass for another one, his voice echoing in the other deviant’s head as he says, _pleads_ : _keep ‘em coming_.

The deviant takes one look at Miss Belfour and nods, walking away with all the grace of a WR400.

When he looks back, the woman is also watching the deviant walk away. She hums appreciatively, and Markus dislikes her. Fucking _dislikes_ the woman. “Don’t sex bots like her have lodging in clubs?”

Markus _sees_ red, but before he could tip over his drink on her head, a warm hand inches its way into the crook of his elbow, and suddenly Connor is there, smiling beatifically at both of them.

“Sure, _Missus Sullivan_ , they have homes in sex clubs the same way you do with homes for the elderly,” He says smoothly—venomously—as he pats Markus’ arm gently, as if he was gentling a wild animal. Markus all but sags under his ministration.

“And you are?”

“Connor Anderson,”

She sneers at him, reaching out her hand for him to kiss, but instead, he shakes it. “Pleasure.”

“I’m sure it is.” Connor replies with a smile, “I’ll have to take Markus away now. Please do keep your… opinions to yourself. The security aren’t human.”

Markus tosses back the drink in his hand once Connor steers him away. Connor plucks the glass from his hand and stares at him, concern writ across his face. He deposits the glass on an oncoming waiter, and Markus quickly gets another one.

Now, Connor is really staring at him. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” He asks, “Oh, yeah. Totally. Totally.”

“You’re—”

“Don’t do that creepy vital reading thing, please—”

“Eighty eight percent stressed.”

Markus sighs and drinks again. Connor stares at the flute into a of thirium. Okay, so maybe this isn’t his third glass. Maybe it’s his sixth, but who’s counting? Definitely not him. Maybe the hundreds of eyes watching his every move.

“Escort me to the balcony, please,” Connor suggests after awhile, and Markus nods, walking both of them towards the huge double doors leading to the balcony overlooking the gardens outside the estate. He doesn’t know how much this place costs, but Simon and North assured him that it would barely be a dent against what they’re earning tonight. Estimated two million.

Jesus, that’s a fucking number.

They stand there, relishing in the quietness that the outside brings, just the two of them and the cicadas. Connor doesn’t let go of him, but he drags him towards the sill, looking down and then up. Checking for structural integrity, maybe. Looking for exits. Doing Connor stuff.

Markus watches him, a smile on his face. He reaches out to brush away a stray lock of hair from Connor’s forehead, tucking it behind an ear. Connor’s LED blinks amber before returning to its mellow blue.

Connor turns his head to look at him, his wide eyes black against the backdrop of the night sky. Beautiful. Markus could stare at them for hours on end, just wondering how deep the darkness of his eyes could go.

“Fifty two percent,” Connor laughs quietly, “That went down fast.”

“You’re pretty.” Markus says instead of replying.

“Thank you. You’re very handsome as well,” Connor removes his hand from around his bicep to press against his chest, picking imaginary lint from his suit. “You look really good in pale yellow.”

“You…” Markus trails off, looking towards the people in the middle of the ball room, at Josh and Simon, dancing like they’ve always danced with each other. At the various couples, in their own little space. He decides that he wants that. “You wanna dance?”

Connor’s smile falters, “I… North wanted me to keep you in check until your speech. And I promised Hank that I’d give him a dance before you did,”

It’s five minutes until his speech. “Oh.” He pushes himself away from Connor, dusting his own suit off. “Alright. I’ll go find North.”

He leaves and finds North quickly enough, who ushers him by the stage, muttering about how she knows he’s been drinking, and he better not use his fool head tonight of all night. He nods numbly, trying and failing not to look at the throng of people starting to dance again, Connor in Lieutenant Anderson’s arms, twisting daintily across the floor.

The Lieutenant says something and Connor laughs. Connor gazes up at the man with love in his eyes, and Markus finally looks away, sobered up and unfortunately burdened with the knowledge that Connor’s just like that with everyone.

After the music swells and slowly comes to an end, the dancers bow and disperse, going to their seats and some standing to watch Markus deliver his speech.

He’s delivered speeches before. In front of many people, actually. Fact is, he’s not that nervous doing this. Speeches. Not when it matters, and not when it’s his people. But when it’s a bunch of white collar humans somehow still looking at them like they’re the hottest toy in store? It shakes him. It makes him scared.

Big damn deviant leader, scared?

That’s a fucking thought.

“Welcome, esteemed guests,” He grins, because Carl has always said he’s got a charming, award-winning smile. “It’s heartwarming to see so many people come together for a single cause.” Look through the crowd. Make eye contact.

He catches Connor’s eyes for a second, but then he looks at the person next to him. He doesn’t really want to look at Connor right now.

After a few more words to flatter those who donated, the disembarks from the stage, taking another flute of thirium and tossing it back not so gracefully. North puts a stern hand on his shoulder and stares him down with dark, amber eyes.

“I think you should go home,” She decides, and Markus shakes his head. He needs to see this through. It’s for the future of their people. They deserve more than Markus. Connor deserves more than a sorry man like him.

He’s no decorated Lieutenant, he’s just. He’s just Markus. Too shy Markus, Markus with his fool head on his broad shoulders. Awkward Markus.

“No, you’re definitely going home, and I’m taking you,” North wraps an arm around his waist, “Simon, can you finish this up?”

Markus grunts and pushes her off, fixing his suit and sauntering over to the exit himself, putting on his most charming smile.

If they’re going to make him go, then he’s going to do as much as he can before they shove him back to bed.

More than a dozen reporters flock the sides of the walkway to his car, and North curses as she follows him, muttering about how much of a dumbass he is.

“Mister Manfred!” One yelled, a pretty woman wearing her LED proudly. He gravitates towards her. “Mister Manfred, what do you think of the opposing factions holding charity drives such as this to fund the continuous oppression of deviants—?” She asks, turning the recorder towards him.

He leans in, “I think they’ve lost once,” He says matter-of-factly, “I can see them losing again.”

North grapples at his arm, “Markus, shut the fuck up.” She turns towards the reporter, settling her with a withering look.

The man behind her jumps up and asks his question, and Markus stares at him, wondering if he’s human or not. Mostly Markus just wants to do his job. Smile and answer what they want to be answered. “There’s been speculation that you’re dating Connor Anderson! Is this true? Where is he now?”

He shuffles forward, the effects of the seven drinks he’s had weighing in on each word he says, “As much as I like the guy—I’d lay my life down for him, he’s so goddamn gorgeous—”

North makes a sound, “Markus—!”

“We’re just not meant to b—” He presses his hand against his neck and sloppily runs a diagnostic, his blood boiling when he stumbles onto a line of code forbidding him to use his voice. North looks guilty as she tugs him before her, helping him into the car and thanking the reporters before she slides into the driver’s seat and revs the car away from this goddamn horse and pony show.

Markus laughs. He’s starting to sound like his dad.

* * *

“You fucking _idiot!”_ North all but throttles him as she storms into his bedroom the next morning, tossing his bedsheets off his body and shoving open the curtains to let the light in. She turns around, hands on her hips so she won’t rip his fool head off his shoulders, and huffs out a deep sigh.

She squeezes her eyes shut, ten seconds pass, and then she opens them back up again, “Check the news,”

Markus already knows what’s in the news. Nothing good. He’s blocked out the memories from last night, and it helps that what he drank serves as minor file corruptors should you drink to an excess. He really does need to figure out who made alcoholic thirium and give them a goddamned Nobel Prize or something.

North clicks her tongue impatiently, “Check. _The._ News.”

He doesn’t reply, just groans and shoves his head further into the pillow. His head is pounding. Maybe he shouldn’t have drank so much last night.

Maybe he shouldn’t have done many things, but it doesn’t change that he still did them.

So he does check the news, lazily searching the usual key words so it’d pop up—

He sits up.

“Oh yeah,” North begins knowingly, “you’re in some deep shit, now.”

Pictures of him and Connor, on that balcony, Connor smiling up at him, his hands flat on Markus’ chest. They looked—for the world—like a couple in absolute love, and the image burns its way back into his mind, the way Connor pressed against him, the ensuing rejection, the liquid courage on his lips, saying words he normally wouldn’t.

Connor, standing alone on that balcony.

And in bold, **_ROMEO, ROMEO, WHEREFORE ART THOUGH ROMEO? Connor Anderson left bereft? See page 3 for more!_ **

“This is fucking horrid,” Markus says, for the lack of anything better to say. “And totally taken out of contex—”

“Shut the fuck up for once,” North hisses, “Put your big boy pants on and admit you want to have babies with Connor, because frankly, I’m fucking tired of your clownery.”

Markus groans again, throwing his arm over his eyes. He _knows_.

“The only good thing about all of this is that funding increased tenfold after your little… love confession. God, even _I_ didn’t go through all this drama when I asked Kara to be my girlfriend—” She pauses, looking at Markus, who isn’t really listening. He’s wondering what would become of his and Connor’s friendship. Will he hate him? He doesn’t really want to worry about it. “Get dressed. Simon’s having a conniption and you’re meeting with Connor to sort this shit out. I said to let it run its course, but no one ever listens to me…” She throws her hands up and walks away.

Markus grunts and shoves himself off the bed.

He’s in some deep shit, indeed.

* * *

To say that Simon was having a conniption is… an understatement. Markus has never seen that much emotion in his face, save for when Josh is actively trying to be cute, and seeing Simon’s anger _directed_ at him is both a very new and very scary experience. It’s like trying to speak in public for the first time, or when you suddenly lose your footing in a pool.

“Have you seen this?” He seethes, shoving a clear tablet with his face pasted in front of it at him, his eyes blazing angrily. Markus wonders if Simon could make smoke come out of his ears. “North, has he seen this?”

North is smoking a cigarette by the open windows, most probably keeping an eye out for paparazzis and the like. “No,” She replies, totally leaving Markus to fend for his own. Josh is sitting down on a sofa, his eyes closed as his foot tapped a quick rhythm, no doubt trying to answer the thousands of emails concerning his fuck up last night.

Simon put his hands on his hips and looks at his boyfriend, “Can you believe this, Josh?” He asks, and Josh makes a noise. “Because I sure don’t!”

Markus looks at North, who shrugs. Simon sounds and looks like he’s about to ask to talk to the manager. North takes a long drag from her cigarette, “Connor’s coming over in a minute. Simon?”

“We’re milking this for what it’s worth,” Simon decides, looking at Josh for support. Josh opens his eyes, dark and tinged with blue like it did back at Stratford Tower. He smiles and reaches out, and Simon goes to him, sighing when Josh looks up at him, thumb rubbing circles on the blond’s hip.

Markus looks away, bitter, jealous, and impossibly happy for the two of them.

“Connor’s here,” North announces, stubbing her cigarette on the sill and all but running towards the door. Markus sits up; he’s not going to admit to anyone that both his stomach and his ass is clenched from the anxiety all of this is bringing him.

She opens the door and Kara is there, her arm locked around Connor’s, her beaming at North, who presses a deep kiss against her lips. Connor smiles and steps away, moving inside the house and shedding off his coat. Josh catches his eyes and raises his eyebrows, and Markus, first and foremost a domestic android, jumps up and takes Connor’s coat for him, fingertips burning when they brush against Connor.

“Hello, Markus.” Connor greets, fixing the collar of his pale pink button up.

Like a kettle threatening to boil over, Markus’ mouth lets go of words faster than steam escaping said kettle, “I’m sorry,” He begins, lines of frustrated, red code manifesting behind his eyelids, “I put us in a bit of a bind, I’m really sor—”

Connor cups Markus’ cheek and smiles reassuringly at him. He looks determined, unfazed, like he knows what to do. But the furrow in his brow says otherwise.

Very Connor-esque of him.

“It’s okay,” He says to Markus, as if there were just the two of them. “It takes two to tango, or so Hank says.”

North snorts.

* * *

Connor holds his hand behind the podium, smiling reassuringly up at him as the reporters are given their go-ahead to ask questions. A pretty blonde deviant’s arm shoots upwards and Connor grins at her, a charming greeting spilling effortlessly from his lips.

The other deviant entrances all of them— _all_ of them, yes, even the human reporters with little bright blue ribbons that signify their bigotry—as he dimples, asking for the reporter’s name.

The woman flushes, “A-Amelie, sir.” She regroups herself professionally and clears her throat, getting back to the task at hand. Connor says nothing, the reassuring smile still on his face. “You’ve surely seen the headlines flying about you two—is it true? And what would it mean for JERICHO?”

Markus tips his head to the side, confused by the question. “It means nothing for JERICHO,” He answers bluntly, “I don’t see why it has to mean anything,”

Amelie nods tightly, “But you do understand the ramifications of such a relationship, especially with your history with each other—”

Connor’s eyes widen and his hand tightens around Markus’, barely noticeable to anyone who isn’t Markus, but Markus _knows_ Connor’s face. He squeezes Connor’s hand back and answers, because it is his fault why they’re all here, “Connor is imperative to the JERICHO foundation; he’s done a lot, and will continue to do so, by my side. By our side.”

Simon gives him a thumbs up from the back of the room.

The mediator interrupts, “Next question, please.”

After that, the rest of the questions remain surprisingly respectable and straight forward, and nearing the end of it, his and Connor’s fingers are laced together loosely, as if it was something they’d been doing all their lives.

Connor leans towards him, lips all but brushing against his ear as he whispers, “You’re doing great.”

Markus shivers and smiles, blind and deaf to the flashing lights and clicking cameras.

* * *

Yagami Kohaku—Haku to people close to her—has a problem with boys.

Not in the way you’d think, no. In a different way. In a weird way, if you’re so keen to categorise it. She has a problem with boys by way that she can’t stop buying these fucking weird ass magazines just to stare at them. She can’t help it, okay? She can’t help that she has a propensity for twinky white boys who can probably throw her over a bridge with a flick of his wrist.

So, Yagami Kohaku has a problem. A boy problem, but if you wanted to know, to pinpoint exactly where her problem starts and ends, it starts with a pretty white boy named Connor, and ends with his love story with Markus Manfred.

It’s _cute_.

It’s pretty badass, actually. Like some kind of dystopian romance novel.

She sighs as she picks up the digitised magazine and flips through it, shaking her head as she looks at the three consecutive pictures of Connor and Markus in the late Carl Manfred’s home. The first one is Connor sitting on Markus’ desk, smiling coyly back at Markus, who is sat in his chair.

Haku sighs and moves on to the second picture. Candid, this time around. Connor, barefoot, handing Markus a cup of steaming thirium, and judging by the yellowed string hanging off to the side, she’s assuming it’s tearium. Markus barely looking up from the pile of paperwork in front of him, but there’s a smile on his face that means he appreciate it nonetheless.

She prefers it herself, whenever she needs to top up on blue blood.

The last one is of the whole JERICHO team, North, Simon and Josh, grinning widely as Markus presents them with a dessert of some sort, bright blue, something that triggers her fight or flight instincts.

Her knuckles rap against the counter to get the cashier’s attention, who looks at the two magazines in her hand, before shaking his head, muttering about women these days; Haku has half a mind punching the dude in the throat.

“Fourteen seventy-five.”

Haku pays diligently.

“You’re really gonna waste your money on this?”

“Is that any of your goddamn business?” So what if she’s a sucker for love stories born under dire circumstances? Connor and Markus’ love story reads like a queer Shakespeare and she’s not about to quit supporting that. The man shakes his head but bags up her magazines.

When she gets to Kasumi’s, the girl launches herself at Haku and screams, gripping Haku’s chin with her hand and turning it to look at the phone in Kasumi’s hand.

There, in bright technicolour, a bit blurry but definitely quantifiable as them, is Connor and Markus.

Kissing.

Haku’s eyes involuntarily goes wide.

“No way,” She whispers.

“Yes way,” Kasumi giggles, and Haku flops down on her sofa, with Kasumi settled comfortably—if a bit precariously—on her lap.

Connor’s got his arms around Markus’ neck as he bends back to accommodate what little height Markus has got on him, and his blinding grin is noticeable even in the pixelated image.

Haku looks at them and then at the love of her life.

They deserve love, and so does she.

* * *

Jane isn’t the first to know what it’s been confirmed that Connor and Markus are dating, but she did lend JERICHO some of her people to fix up the blunder that was Markus at the Jericho Gala. Her wife woke her up one morning, kissed her deeply and handed her the newspaper.

Their daughter clambers up on her lap and urges her to teach what’s written on the newspaper.

But before she could, she takes one look at the first paragraph and folds it back shut, reaching for her coffee and taking a long sip as she tosses the newspaper to the far end of the room.

Odette blinks her pretty blue eyes up at Jane and wonders, with all the innocence that a child like her has, “Why’d you throw it, mama?”

Jane grins. “I just didn’t want to read it, baby. You wouldn’t wanna, either.”

Lianna laughs and picks up the newspaper. She keeps on laughing until her eyes fall on the same paragraph as Jane did, but like the little minx she is, she keeps on reading, blue slowly dusting her cheeks.

She looks at Jane scandalously.

Thank the Gods that their daughter can’t read the title in bold, on the front: **_Tangled in the Great Escape? Markus and Connor’s first sex scandal!_ **

Jane shakes her head. Why does she even read tabloid drivel? Because it makes her life a little bit more exciting? Well, not anymore. Maybe this time she’ll go over to JERICHO and handle things herself. Lord knows these absolute children need some leading.

* * *

“It’s really not that hard,” North says to Simon, who is massaging her foot. Josh is eating a donut topped with blue glaze and laughing at his boyfriend’s expense. “Just say I’m a genius.”

“No.” Simon grumbles, “Setting our friends up does not equate to intellect.”

“You’re just pissy that I managed to do it first,”

Josh hums. “And so well, too.” he points out, just to piss Simon off.

The way Simon’s lip twitches downward lets North know she’s right. She loves being right, sometimes. She’s a goddamned genius.

She inhales slowly from her cigarette, like some Don from the Godfather or something, as her servant gives her a less than satisfactory foot rub, “Next up, marriage. I’ve already gotten Kamski on it, the rich bastard.”

* * *

**_Lovesick Deviant Leader Confesses Unrequited Love on Jericho Gala Red Carpet_ **

_10,009,345 views._

Connor hums as he looks around the kitchen, wondering where he could put some form of artwork on the walls. That _isn’t_ covered in art already, that is. He lazily swishes around the heated up thirium in his mug.

He jumps when the toast pops up the toaster, smiling to himself for being so immersed in his daydreaming that a _toaster_ scares the living bejesus out of him. Hank would laugh at his expense; maybe North.

Markus comes ambling in a second later, no doubt pulled into the kitchen by the sweet, tangy smell of the thirium based coffee in the pot, but surprising Connor when he wraps himself around the man, pressing his nose to the junction of Connor’s neck and shoulder and sniffing. Markus has always said that he smells nice.

“Coffee…” He says, his voice still croaky from exhaustion and sleep.

Connor lifts up his cup and Markus takes it, drinking greedily from the mug and sighing loudly when he’s done.

“We should frame this up,” Connor says when Markus blinks himself awake, still draped around him like a 200 pound, muscly coat.

Markus fits himself further into the curve of Connor’s body, rubbing his stubbly cheek against Connor’s cheek like a cat. “Hm?”

“This,” He shows his boyfriend the YouTube video, which, in turn, wakes Markus up. He flushes brightly and tries to take away the tablet from Connor, who laughs and dances away from his grabby hands.

He grins, “I’m framing it. Putting it over the fireplace,”

His boyfriend whines, “Please _don’t_ ,”

Connor shakes his head and steps away, already thinking about where he’ll hide from Markus’ prying disposition, thanking his lucky stars that Markus was kind of an awkward dork inside a Greek god’s body.

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was so self indulgent. comment me sweet, nice somethings. or drag me, idk


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